


Darkest Hour

by begracefulindefeat (yoi99)



Series: It's not easy love, but you've got friends you can trust [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Champions League, Fluff and Angst, Injury, M/M, Manchester United, Paris Saint-Germain F.C.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 19:33:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoi99/pseuds/begracefulindefeat
Summary: Jesse brought his knees to his chest, wincing at the sharp pain in his thigh as he hugged them tightly, burying his face into his knees as he tried to calm down."Y'uright, y'okay?""Yeah, definitely not alright and not okay"





	Darkest Hour

_No no no._

That was the only thing going through his mind as Jesse Lingard sat on the grass of the pitch, clutching his thigh with his hand and trying to hold back his tears.

 

This couldn't be happening. Not to him. Not right now.

 

He had been waiting for the Champions League to start again since Ole had become their manager. Everything was going great, they were all doing so well, he couldn't just get injured. The universe could not be so cruel. Yet the pain wasn't diminishing, and he couldn't even hear the roars of the crowd around him anymore.

 

The team medics were asking lots of questions. “Where does it hurt?”, “Describe the pain,” “Can you stand?” Jesse's head was spinning. He couldn't focus. He closed his eyes tightly and focused on the closest ray of hope. Marcus. Kneeling next to him, with a completely heartbroken expression. The urge to cry became harder to push down, but at the same time, the presence of his best friend made him feel at least a bit calmer.

 

With Marcus glued to his side, the medics examined him, touched the sore spot, asked him if he thought he could go back to the pitch. Jesse dizzily nodded, it was almost halftime anyways, he could rest for a while. He tried to smile comfortingly at Marcus, trying to reassure the striker, telling him (and himself) that it was going to be okay.

 

He followed one of the medics to the side of the pitch, assuring he was okay and that he would step down if he wasn't. Jesse waited for a few seconds before being allowed to enter the pitch again, but as soon as he started jogging, a jolt of pain shook him so hard he had to sit down so he wouldn't fall.

 

It was over for him.

 

He stood up with difficulty, limping back to the edge of the pitch. He cursed himself when he couldn't hold back his tears any longer, wiping them with the edge of the shirt. The crowd was going mad, giving him a round of applause for his performance on the first half (or maybe it was just out of pity), but Jesse couldn't bring himself to think about anything but the throbbing pain in his left leg.

 

Ignoring everyone that came near him, he rushed (or attempted to rush) to the locker room. Jesse plopped into the bench, burying his face in his hands. And then he screamed, he screamed at the top of his lungs, the sound slightly muffled by his hands. He screamed out of frustration and pain. He stopped after a bit, not wanting the others to find him screaming when they came. Jesse took a deep breath, telling himself over and over that everything was going to be okay. Nothing was going to be okay though, and before he could stop the thought from invading his mind, he burst into sobs. He felt all the negativity he worked so hard to keep away overrunning him.

 

Jesse brought his knees to his chest, wincing at the sharp pain in his thigh as he hugged them tightly, burying his face into his knees as he tried to calm down.

 

“Think positive thoughts Jesse, c’mon” he muttered to himself shakily.

 

His teammates were going to get here soon, and he really wasn’t in the mood for any pity talk. Besides, he had to be strong for Marcus. Knowing Rashy he would probably be worried about him the rest of the match (like he would have had it been the other way around). Jesse cursed himself, he was already hurting the team by having to get subbed, he couldn’t drag Marcus with him too.

 

The sound of chattering and footsteps made him snap out of his thoughts. He wiped (more like tried and failed) the tears from his cheeks and sniffled a bit. Sniffling was okay because he never blew his nose. Resting his chin on his knees, he waited for the rest of the team to come through the door.

 

Paul was the first one to go over to him. Rashy was nowhere to be found.

 

“Hey,” the Frenchman said, sitting down next to him. “You okay?”

 

“Bit cold,” Jesse answered, shrugging. “Oh, and yeah I probably tore some muscle, but it’s no biggie.”

 

The taller man chuckled, reaching behind Jesse to get his tracksuit jacket, throwing it over him.

 

“There, put that on and we’ll solve your first problem. Can’t help much with the second one though.”

 

Jesse gave him a small smile, but he knew he couldn’t fool Paul. They had been friends for too long and the Frenchman knew him too well. He could try telling Paul that he was doing great and that he wasn’t frustrated at all about the whole situation and he would just laugh at him.

 

Instead, Paul squeezed his shoulder tightly. “Tell me if you need anything, okay? Don’t be an idiot.”

 

Jesse nodded, sighing when he got up to discuss strategies for the next half with the rest of the team. Ugh, he wanted to play so bad.

 

“Y’uright, y’okay?”

 

He turned to Marcus, who had suddenly appeared in front of him. He was crouching down so their faces were at the same level. The stupidity of his question managed to get a smile out of Jesse.

 

“Yeah, definitely not alright and not okay.”

 

He knew the smartest option would have probably been telling Marcus he would be fine, reassure him somehow, tell him to focus on the game. He knew all of that but being close to Rashy felt too good just to let go so easily, even if it was selfish.

The younger man chuckled dryly, making Jesse's heart ache.

 

“Don't worry about me, okay Rashy? I'll be fine.”

 

There they were again; the half-smile and the reassuring words Jesse didn't know if they were for Marcus or for himself.

 

Marcus pouted, frowning at the comment. “You just said you weren't okay, and now suddenly everything is going to be fine?”

 

Rashy was too smart for his own good, Jesse thought. He was right, obviously, but it wasn't the moment for discussing the midfielder's stubbornness.

 

“Shouldn't you go talk to Ole or the boys about what you are going to do in the next half?” Jesse asked, dropping the subject as fast as he could.

 

“I’ve already talked to Ole.” Marcus snapped, clearly offended. “I'm more worried about you than the next half.”

 

Jesse chose that moment to get his neck warmer from the shelf above him, pulling it high over his mouth and nose so Marcus couldn't see him blush.

 

Any other time he would have been flattered, probably made fun of Marcus for caring so much about him but he needed the striker to focus on the match or else… Jesse didn't want to think about it. They needed that victory, he needed that victory, even if it was just as a consolation for tearing his muscles.

 

“Listen to me Rashy,” he said, trying to sound as serious as possible. “You can worry about me later, I promise I won't do anything stupid until then, but I need you to score. I need you to play as well as you can and prove the world how talented you are. And I need you to kick PSG's arse. Can you do that for me? Please Rashy?”

 

Marcus gulped. Jesse looked desperate, and even if his mind was screaming to not leave his side until he was better, Marcus knew he had to step up and do the right thing.

 

“Okay…” he finally whispered, after a few moments of silent. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

And Jesse smiled, because if he couldn't play, watching Marcus was the next best thing he could do.

 

 

The second half was a blur.

 

For starters, Jesse tried to focus on not moving because even the smallest sent shots of pain to his hamstring. And then, there were the goals.

 

No one was expecting Kimpembe (who Jesse along with everyone at United believed should have gotten a red card at the end of the first half) to score on the free kick, and it was definitely a low blow considering the second half for the reds was stained with the forced switches.

 

Mbappé was to be expected. Without Neymar or Cavanni, the world champion had all the odds in favour to score. Jesse sank on his seat as he watched the rest of the match, knowing they were doomed.

 

Jesse just wanted to go home and curl up in bed. Every single muscle in his body ached, he felt dizzy and guilt was slowly overwhelming him. When Marcus came to sit next to him, flushed, exhausted and visibly upset and whispered: ‘I’m sorry’, Jesse swore he was going to break down at the spot.

 

Just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, Paul was given a red card. And Jesse realized they were practically out of the Champions League. The whistle blew, and Jesse shook a few players’ hands who wished him to get better soon before heading to the locker room.

 

The atmosphere inside the locker room was something. Two injuries, a red card, two goals against, none in and a home defeat had been a hard blow to take after the hype of the past weeks. Paul, usually the one to cheer everyone up, wasn’t talking to anyone, to mad at himself about the red card. Jesse received a few more pats in the back and a bunch of ‘I’m sure it’s nothing’ and ‘I hope you are back on the field soon’.

 

He smiled, congratulated everyone on the match, told them he’d be back soon stronger than ever, showered and curled up, as far away from everyone as possible, on a bus seat. No one bothered him. Everybody knew the cue: if Jesse, who couldn’t shut up even if his life depended on it, was quiet and isolated, it was because he wanted to be left alone.

 

“No fair, I wanted to talk to Neymar about the weather.”

 

Marcus’ sense of humour was practically inexistent, but he managed to get a small smile from Jesse.

 

“Well, it isn’t sunny today, so it wouldn’t have made sense anyways,” he replied, absently.

 

“Can I sit with you?”

 

Jesse turned from the window to face Marcus. The forward looked almost as drained as him, and he looked like it would break his heart if Jesse told him he could not sit next to him. And it was Rashy after all.

 

“Please?”

 

Jesse couldn’t say no. He was too tired to fight, too upset to say no to Beans comforting presence. So, with a small sigh, he took his backpack from the seat next to him and placed it on the floor, motioning Marcus to sit next to him.

 

“How are you feeling?” Jesse groaned, he knew Marcus was concerned but he wasn’t feeling like discussing his current state of mind.

 

“Don’t want to talk about it, Rashy.”

 

Marcus opened his mouth to protest and Jesse closed his eyes tightly, he really didn’t want to do this now and, even though Marcus was trying to help, the striker’s insistence in being mature wasn’t helping.

 

“Fine,” was Rashy’s answer instead. “We don’t have to talk about it. But if you ever want to, promise me you won’t keep it to yourself.”

 

“I never keep anything to myself, you should know that.” Jesse replied, an eyebrow raised.

 

“That’s bullshit, you should know that.” Marcus counterattacked.

 

Jesse glared at Marcus in a way the younger man thought he was actually angry. He gulped.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, please don’t get mad.” He said quickly, his voice stained with worry.

 

Jesse started laughing.

 

It was a completely honest one, those classic Jesse laughs that he couldn’t hold back no matter how hard he tried. It was so authentic, so pure, so Jesse, Marcus thought for a moment that everything would be okay.

 

“What’s so funny?” he asked, acting offended.

 

“I do keep my own shit to myself Rashy, can’t deny that. But…” Jesse burst into laugher once again. “It’s just… the way you said it…”

 

Marcus was very confused about the whole situation but decided not to ask in case Jesse decided to make more fun of him. He decided he’d much rather have Jesse laughing about something he said than sulking alone in a corner.

 

“Hey, if you don’t cut that I’ll ditch you at the hotel.”

 

Jesse stopped laughing out loud but couldn’t help the amused smile that appeared on his lips.

 

“Wow Rashy, I’ll never ride with you again if you threaten to ditch me every time I laugh.”

 

Marcus scoffed but smiled back at his best friend. This was good, Jesse was good, everything was going to be okay.

 

 

When they reached Jesse’s house, an awkward silence filled the car.

 

Jesse was looking down at his hands. His hamstring still hurt, and he wasn’t feeling like going home yet. He had been fine on the bus and on the drive home but suddenly he was feeling down again.

 

He realized he didn’t want to be without Marcus.

 

“Stay over.” Jesse blurted out, suddenly.

 

It wasn’t as if it was the first time, they were over at each other’s houses all the time, but it was definitely the first time Jesse had sounded so desperate about it.

 

Marcus stared at him in shock.

 

“Please, Rashy. I-I can’t be alone right now, I’m-” Jesse couldn’t finish the sentence.

 

“Yeah, of course I’ll stay.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> What better time to post this than the day of the second leg?
> 
> This was supposed to be a one shot, but then it got really long and since Jesse keeps getting injured I decided to make it into a series :)
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed!


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